


Good Samaritan -Taverna

by trishabooms



Series: Good Samaritan [3]
Category: Bourne
Genre: Good Samaritan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-08
Updated: 2009-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishabooms/pseuds/trishabooms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is formerly a comment fic. It's a time stamp on The Good Samaritan that allowed me to work in the events of The Bourne Ultimatum. This story fits between Samaritan and <a href="http://trishabooms.livejournal.com/103148.html">Making Memories</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Samaritan -Taverna

Taverna

If it had been available at all, he would have taken it. As it was, he was stuck - completely and utterly stuck. Jason hated it, that trapped feeling.

He walked back to the Taverna where he'd left Kirill, joining him at the shaded table.

"There's nothing," he admitted. "Not until Monday. We're stuck here until then."

"There are worse places," the Russian told him, pushing up the sunglasses onto his head and in the process raking his long dark hair away from his face.

Jason was struck by the urge to touch that face, run his fingers over the darkly tanned skin, drag his thumb rub over the lush bottom lip. Kirill looked so much better than he had when they left Mexico, better even than the last time they'd been together weeks ago, weeks that had felt like months as Bourne had finally laid David Webb to rest in New York's East River. He looked kinda tired, traveling on his own was still hard for Kirill, though he wouldn't admit it.

"We should see about getting a room." he told him. "I passed a hotel about five miles down the coast..."

"The Taverna has rooms," Kirill held up a key, gave Jason a smile. "The owner's son, Eneas, has job on ferry."

Jason smiled. "The one that doesn't run until Monday?" He took in the tired look on Kirill's face, the tightness around the eyes that Jason had come to learn meant that his ankle was giving him pain. "You sure you want to stay here, the hotel might be more comfortable?"

"I like it here." His dark eyes stared out over the sparkling Aegean.

Jason couldn't resist this time, reaching out to touch the face he'd missed so much.

"I like it here too."

Despite the lack of air-conditioning their white walled room is cool, louvered shutters closed on the windows to keep out the heat, dust motes dancing in the fingers of sunlight that shine through.

Jason dumps both their bags on the floor, watches as Kirill discards his walking cane and limps over to the windows, throwing the shutters open, standing there for a moment, seemingly transfixed by the view.

"Are you okay?" Jason asked him.

"Da." He turned his head, smiled at Jason. "You have been here before, to this island?"

"Passed through, a long time ago." It had been a stopover, nothing more, part of a complicated false trail he'd left on his journey to find Marie Kreutz. "What about you?"

He shook his head. "Niet."

"Kirill, you sure you're okay?" Something wasn't right, he was sure of it.

"Just hot, need shower."

  
Their en-suite didn't have a bath tub but the walk in shower was large. Jason slipped out of his clothes, Kirill watching him, and joined the Russian beneath a powerful spray, taking the shower gel from him and soaping up his hands.

The weeks without Kirill, with barely any contact between them, had been necessary but harder than he had imagined. He wanted that now, the comfort of being able to touch. The chance to be himself. He wasn't David Webb, not anymore, he couldn't be that man, even if he wanted to. Webb had died a long time ago.

So much tanned flesh beneath his hands, his lips, his tongue.The taste of it familiar and wanted.

"Kirill?" It's a question, a plea, a need to be free of the taint of New York, of the memory of Blackbriar, Dr. Albert Hirsch and all the bastard stood for.

Kirill's long fingered hand cupped his jaw, tilting his head up into a kiss that's slow and deep, grounding him, knowing him. His dark eyes are open, blown with lust and need yet reading him in a way no one else can.

It's Kirill who breaks the kiss, turns to rest his hands against the tile.

There's only the shower gel. This was never the plan, not really, he'd just had that need to be close, to touch and be touched. It's hard though, not to rush this, to not just give in to the urge to take.

Taking his time has it's rewards, has Kirill rolling back onto his fingers and murmuring his wants in a steady stream of Russian.

The tightness almost overwhelms him as he pushes inside and Jason knows that, as much as he'd like to draw this out he's just not capable, not now, not this time.

It's hard and dirty and he jacks Kirill frantically, wanting him to come, to give him something out of this.

In the end he's just moments behind Jason, the two of them almost collapsing against the tile, breathless, wordless.

Later, beneath the coolness of a cotton sheet Jason rest his head on his hand, looking down at Kirill, the fingers of his other hand carding back the long, damp hair.

"I want to stay," Kirill tells him, reaching up to trace the shell of Jason's ear.

"Here?"

He nodded. "I'm tired of running. I want to stay for a while and then I want us to look for a place where we can be."

"That won't be easy."

"David Webb died in a New York river, Kirill Trediakovsky never left that Moscow tunnel." He stroked gentle fingers slowly over Jason's face, lingering at the corner of his mouth before meeting Jason's eyes, his own intense and focused. "I want us, together, a month, a year, five, whatever we get, but a life, Jason, a life."

Jason nodded, understanding, his mind already weighing the possibilities.

"A life," he agreed. The two of them would have that, somehow they'd make it happen.

  
The End


End file.
